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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862348">you always break the kindest heart with a hasty word you can't recall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life'>Duck_Life</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Broken Promises, Established Relationship, Fire, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad, Unhappy Ending, jon uses his powers on martin, tw for abusive implications...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:40:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only when Martin sinks to the ground, fingernails scrabbling in the dirt as he scrambles for something solid and real, that Jon seems to recognize what he's done.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you always break the kindest heart with a hasty word you can't recall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jon knows everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So part of him always knew that this was coming— that he and Martin wouldn’t get through the domain of the Spiral without having to kill Helen. She’s a liar and a murderer. Jon doesn’t hesitate when he levels his gaze at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin doesn’t take it well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Helen is our </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he shouts, grabbing at Jon’s arm like anything he can do could stop him. “She's done nothing to hurt you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter,” Jon snaps. “She— </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>— has power here. It needs to die."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin takes a deep breath, and then he steps in front of her. "Well, I— I won't let you do it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Martin." The Archivist's voice is dangerous. "Get out of my way." Helen watches the interaction with only mild interest, observing their standoff the way one might watch two strangers have an argument in a crowded restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin is resolute. "No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Move</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Martin says, defiant. "You're just… you're going to have to make me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Static crackles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you even know what you're defending?” Jon says, glaring from Martin to Helen and back. “What happens to each twisted victim of the Distortion?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, Archivist,” Helen warns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The way they wander through winding hallways, suffering from starvation and dehydration as their minds collapse in on themselves,” Jon continues, his voice sliding easily into the familiar cadence of the Archivist, “all the while ‘Helen’ watches on with cruel glee as they suffocate under their own mindless fear.” The Archivist is relentless. </span>
  <b>“Feel it. Feel their terror and confusion. Feel the madness that consumes and torments them. Feel what the Distortion does to its victims.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin lets out a loud sob as the knowledge overwhelms him. The Archivist doesn’t let up. The static rises.</span>
  <b> “Feel what they feel. Understand it</b>
  <span>. </span>
  <b>Know why the Distortion needs to die.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only when Martin sinks to the ground, fingernails scrabbling in the dirt as he scrambles for something solid and real, that Jon seems to recognize what he's done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." It's quiet, so quiet in the sudden absence of static. Mournful, almost. "No, n-no, I didn't… Martin—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches, and Martin flinches away, shuffling back until he bumps into Helen's legs. One huge, claw-like hand comes down to rest on his shoulder, almost protective. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon stares at Martin and Martin stares back, eyes filled with terror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Door's open, Martin," Helen says in a low voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few shaky breaths, Martin heaves himself to his knees and then to his feet, brushing dirt off his clothes. He glances back at Jon, just for a moment, and then he vanishes through Helen's door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon stares at the spot where Martin had knelt, shaking and terrified in the wake of what he'd… what he'd just… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell did I just do?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, don't play dumb, Archivist," Helen says, cocking her head to the side. Any sympathy she'd shown Martin has vanished from her voice when she addresses him. "You know exactly what you did. You did what you wanted."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, I… I didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>… I just wanted him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span> and—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And he did. Congratulations," she says, arms spread. "You've got a clear shot now, Jonathan Sims. Would you like to kill me? I'll stand still, I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm… I didn't…" Horror overtakes Jon as he processes what just happened. He hurt Martin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Took all that trust and love and shattered it. At what point did he decide killing monsters was more important than Martin? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You were so articulate just moments ago," she says. "Stop acting like you were in a fugue state or under someone else’s control. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to kill me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t care if Martin became collateral damage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I didn’t want to,” he says lamely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you did,” she says. “If you didn’t want to do it, you wouldn’t have done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look. Monster to monster? We can’t deny our own natures,” Helen says, “but the least we can do is own up to them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Helen,” he says, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs, a full-throated genuinely hysterical laugh. It reverberates through the open air. “For what? Trying to kill me? You’ve made it </span>
  <em>
    <span>abundantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> clear that you always had that intention. I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Archivist. I’m not even surprised. You spent a long time telling me you didn’t like me, and then you tried to kill me. It’s downright logical.” She smiles a warped, crooked smile. “Martin, on the other hand… you spent a long time telling him you loved him, and then you tried to torture him to the point of insanity. Pretty twisted, you know, and that’s coming from </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns toward the door. Jon clears his throat. “Keep him… keep him safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t make any promises,” she replies. “But then, neither could you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she’s gone. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Jon makes the last leg of the journey alone. The Lonely tugs at him a couple of times, but it’s easy for him to push it aside. The pain he caused Martin sits at the forefront of his mind, and that scorching guilt is fairly decent immunity against the Forsaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few times, he considers giving up. If he couldn’t even make it to the Panopticon without turning against Martin, what good is he when it comes to saving the world? But the fact is that Martin is still out there, somewhere. Probably traumatized— </span>
  <em>
    <span>your fault, your fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>— but alive. And Jon owes it to him, now more than ever, to give him the world back. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>When the door appears, it’s red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s funny, somehow. Jon stands and waits for the spider legs to emerge, sticky and inescapable, here finally to finish what the Web started long ago. But then the door opens, and it’s just Martin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon opens his mouth, but words don’t come. He’s frightened that anything he says might only do more harm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s mouth is set in a firm line, and he steps out of the doorway and walks forward without trepidation, gripping the straps of his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… you’re here,” Jon says, staring at him in awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin stares back, cold and resolute. “I’m here,” he says. "I made a promise. And… giving up on you doesn't mean giving up on the world."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've given up on me." Martin doesn't answer, which is fine. It wasn't really a question. Jon takes a shaky breath. “Martin, I’m… I’m so sorry—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t. Just… don’t,” Martin says, holding up a hand. He looks up at the tower of the Panopticon looming above them. “Let’s just get this over with.” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Killing Jonah Magnus turns out to be fairly easy. An eyeless corpse, he doesn’t exactly fight back. The body doesn’t bleed when they stab into it, but it’s clear when the scream echoes through the darkness that the man who wore the Watcher’s Crown is finally dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They find Elias Bouchard’s body at the top of the tower, eyes gone all white. The Ceaseless Watcher’s servant will see no more. Without speaking, Jon and Martin carry the body down the steps so they can burn it with the rest of the Archives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the Fears howl outside the walls. Still, the masked ones scream without faces and the worms choke on dirt and the sickly get sicker and the flowers in the Boneturner’s garden continue to bloom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s over now,” Martin says, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Isn’t it supposed to be over?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sighs and looks at the man he loves, the man he did his level best to destroy back in the Spiral’s domain. Devotion burns in his chest and sputters out in the back of his throat. "This won't be over until the Archive burns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And by Archive you mean… ?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me, Martin." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Martin shakes his head, clenches and unclenches his fists. “Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can… I can do it myself,” Jon says, letting him leave. Setting him free. “You can go."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I'll—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But it's, it's…" Jon sighs. "I'd want it to be you." He doesn’t deserve it, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t stop himself from asking. “Martin…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Martin says, his eyes searing. “I can’t… you shouldn’t… You don’t get to die while I still hate you. That’s not how this works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can hate me for the rest of your life, Martin,” Jon says gently. “I would understand. I deserve it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point. This is… it’s…” Angry tears well in his eyes. “This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you. You hurt me, and you get to leave. You don’t have to stick around and try to fix it. You die like this, saving the world, and then I’m the asshole for still hating you when you’re dead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think there’s a soul on earth who would try to defend me, Martin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Martin shouts. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to stick around. I want you to make this better. I want to trust you again, I want to forgive you. And you’re not giving me the </span>
  <em>
    <span>time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do any of it</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you’re dead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. And I’m sorry,” Jon says. “There’s just not another way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tosses Martin his spiderweb lighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon lets himself have one last moment to look at Martin, his face, the curve of his cheek, his eyes, damp with tears. After all the awful things Jon’s seen and Seen, it’s a privilege for his last sight to be Martin Blackwood. A privilege he really doesn’t deserve. But then, nobody gets what they deserve. "I really loved you, you know," Jon says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screw you.” Martin’s voice and hands shake as he flips open the lighter. “This is… we’re going to be okay, you know. Me and Melanie and the others, after all this. Somehow. We’re going to be okay.” It’s not clear whether he means this as a reassurance or an insult. Maybe both. “Goodbye, Jon. I don't forgive you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," Jon says. "But thank you for this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Archive ignites. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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